


now a thing with twenty legs

by afterism



Category: Ghosts (TV 2019)
Genre: Christmas, Gen, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:08:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21937243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afterism/pseuds/afterism
Summary: Christmas at Button House.
Comments: 16
Kudos: 81
Collections: Yuletide 2019





	now a thing with twenty legs

**Author's Note:**

  * For [butterflymind](https://archiveofourown.org/users/butterflymind/gifts).



> The title is, of course, part of the description of the Ghost of Christmas Past from A Christmas Carol. Happy Yuletide!

"What on _earth_ is that _thing_ doing in my drawing room!"

"It's our Christmas tree," Alison says, patiently.

Mike looks up, frowns for a second, looks around the empty room and says, "Ah."

"It's hideous! And short!" Lady Button continues, as Alison grits her teeth and wrestles another ribbon onto a plastic branch. "It wouldn't be fit to grace the servants' kitchen! In my day we had a tree over twenty feet high in the entrance hall that required two days to decorate! I will not stand for this insult to the great traditions of this house! I will —"

Mike leans over. "What are they saying?"

"They're talking about their Christmas traditions. Apparently, we're heathens who are ruining it."

"I'm not plucking another pheasant," Mike says quickly.

"It's goose, you imbecile!" Lady Button shrieks. "We must have goose on Christmas Day!"

"It's fine," Alison says, sighing. "It's time someone introduced this lot to a frozen turkey crown."

"And stuffing! There must be stuffing, and have you even started on the plum pudding—"

"Ah, now we're talking about my kind of party. Of course," Julian says, chuckling, "in my day it wasn't a party until the stocking stuffers came out, if you catch my drift."

"I really wish I didn't," Alison mutters, and shoves another bauble onto the tree.

\---

"I've written you a poem, fair Alison, for this most glorious of St Nicholas Days."

"Oh," Alison says. "That's really not—"

"As the Christmas season dawns," Thomas proclaims, loudly. "I shall not be feigning yawns, for your beauty is like a sugared plum, you have me— wait!"

\---

"Robin! What have I told you about wasting valuable manpower!"

Robin nods. "Only do if funny."

"Exact— no! Explain these lights, man!" The Captain demands, gesturing towards the middle of the room.

Robin looks. All four foot of Alison's Christmas tree is wrapped in fairy lights, twinkling and flashing as they run through the full gamut of possible settings.

"Wassen me," Robin shrugs.

"Typical," The Captain mutters, and marches off.

\---

"Youse gots to gets the Yule log," Mary says, and Alison yelps. "Gots to keeps the evil spirits out."

"Could we discuss this later?" Alison asks, a little strained.

"What?" Mike says. "Are my hands too cold? I know we're trying to save on heating but you know I can't do anything about how cold my hands get."

"No, no, it's, um," Alison glances to the side. "Or, well, yes, actually. Maybe we should have another look at the fireplaces."

"Right now?" Mike frowns, as Alison pulls the duvet closer.

"Right now," she says.

\---

"Alison! Your lights are on the fritz and I demand a word about the mantlepiece."

"They're supposed to be like that," Alison sighs, and then she frowns. "What's wrong with the mantlepiece?"

"What's a mantle piece?" Mike asks, not looking up from the array of paint samples spread out on the floorboards.

"Something to do with the fireplace, I think?"

"It's bare, that's what's wrong with it! Where is the ivy, madam? Where is the holly?"

"And candles!" Kitty says, looking up from where she's sitting beside Mike. "Ribbons and candles and those little twirly paper things! Oh, yes, let's decorate for Christmas!"

"I thought we already had," Alison says, frowning.

"Allow me to lend my artistic touch to these festivities and within a sennight I swear you will have the most beautiful house in all of England. I could compose a poem marking the gifts I will bestow upon you each day to prove my love..."

"Enough of that, man, the greenery is the thing! It is not Christmas without the full sweep of colours!"

"Tis not right to haves a cold fireplace this time of years," Mary says. "People be accusing you of consorting withs devileries for less."

Alison exhales, sharp and heavy.

Mike glances at her. "What's wrong?"

"Well," she starts, staring hard at the empty fireplace. "You know that idea we had about installing bifold doors on the terrace so we could have that whole 'bringing the outdoors in' living space thing?"

"Yeah?"

"We need to go cut down some green things and drag them inside."

"What, like, actual bells of holly and stuff?"

Alison twitches. "It's boughs, apparently," she says, grimacing.

"Right," Mike says, nodding. "I'll, er, go look in the shed for some cutty things."

"Great idea," Alison says, fixing her jaw.

\---

"You should tie a rope to that tree... no? That tree? That — have any of you actually ever cut down a tree before?" Alison says, a step louder.

Mike, holding the axe, takes a step back.

"It's quite simply, really," Pat says. "All you need to do is choose a tree — not too tall, mind — and cut a wedge in one side until it's almost ready to fall. Then everyone steps back, and the oldest person in the group gets ready to give it one last blow, and of course everyone must shout _timber_ so we all know it's falling. Shall we try that? All together now — Timber!"

Alison presses her lips together, carefully not looking at anyone.

"No? Alright then, we'll just do it when it happens. Well, you get the tree down and you take off all the branches for kindling, and then you chop it up and put it somewhere dry for at least a year so it can season properly, and then — oh. No. We've missed a bit, haven't we."

"Yeah," Alison says, her mouth flat.

"So... which tree?" Mike asks, looking around.

"Forget the tree," Alison sighs.

"Alison! Alison, look! Mistletoe!" Kitty calls.

"Right. We're getting a chocolate log and a scented candle for the fireplace. Okay?" Alison asks, and lifts her hand sharply. She waits for a moment. "Okay," she says, finally.

\---

"Get me one, yeah?" Mike calls after her, as Alison heads for the kitchen. The ghosts are arguing among themselves about the correct placement of ivy on the staircases and, for once, aren't directing it at her.

It's too early for beer but they have definitely earnt a mince pie. Alison opens the pantry door, turns on the light, and yelps.

Robin blinks at her.

"Oh, Jesus, what do you want? A new stonehenge under the tree? A crown made of goose feathers? _What_?"

"Fire," Robin states.

"Just... fire?" Alison asks, narrowing her eyes.

"Fire," Robin repeats, with a nod.

Alison considers him for a moment, and then asks, carefully, "Where?"

"Oh, anywhere," Robin grunts, shrugging in a way that looks a little too careless for Alison's comfort. "On field, under stars. Just fire."

"Just fire," Alison says, slowly. "Okay. We can do that." She reaches past him, picks up the box of mince pies, and steps back. Robin purses his lips and looks around, studiously innocent.

She starts to turn around. "On shortest day. Solstice. Bring back sun," Robin adds.

Alison pauses. "Fine," she says, like a full stop, and takes a step away.

"And strong man to burn," Robin says, quick and quiet behind her, and Alison whirls back around. There is, at least, a flicker of satisfaction as Robin flinches.

"Or any animal would do," he adds, quickly.

"Great. Turkey on the barbeque it is," Alison says, and shuts the door.

\---

"Mike! It's the Guides!"

"What, spirit guides?" he calls, from somewhere in the house.

"What? No, the normal kind," Alison says, and strains a smile as she catches the eye of one of the leaders. "Obviously."

"We're Brownies, actually," says the smallest one at the front.

"Oh. I was a Guide, you know."

"Whatever," the girl says, and eyes Mike as he appears at the open door, wrapping an arm around Alison's shoulders. "You ready?"

"Girls," says the leader, a note of warning in her voice. "And a one, two, three —"

" _Good King Wenceslas looked out, on the feast of Stephen_ ," they sing, high and harmonious, but there's an interesting baritone beneath the girls' voices. One of the Brownie leaders must have quite the range.

Mike and Alison listen politely, their smiles fixing as the carol continues longer than either of them remember, and shift their hands ready to clap as, surely, it must be finishing soon?

"Very good!" Alison cheers at the end, grinning down at them with genuine relief. She looks towards the back, where the bass notes were coming from. "Especially — oh."

As one, the girls turn to look at the empty darkness behind them.

The Captain beams down at them all.

"Outstanding discipline! Jolly good show, everyone!"

\---

"Alison?"

The turkey is defrosting slowly in the sink, the sprouts have been peeled and halved (by Mike, who is now somewhere upstairs, probably wrapping the power drill he bought her for Christmas and thinks she doesn't know about), and Alison is looking at recipes for red cabbage. There are too many choices. She looks up, eyes bright.

"Pat," she says, flatly.

"Could I ask a small favour?" Pat says, tapping his fingers together. "It's just, on Christmas Eve, we'd all sit 'round the telly and watch _The Little and Large Show_ and then let Daley stay up to watch _Whistle Test_ just before bed, and, well... it'd be nice, you know, to do something like that again. I know they probably don't show those old shows any more but maybe they're showing a film on BBC One that we could all watch together?"

Alison looks at him, and then says, "You know what, Pat? That sounds genuinely _lovely_."


End file.
